


I Was Looking For Some Good Old Satisfaction

by sharkdolphin



Series: Floofy Silver Fox [1]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, CMNF, DDLG, Dirty Talk, Dom John Deacon, F/M, Facial, Healthy Communication, Intimacy, Light Bondage, Mild Degradation, Praise Kink, Protectiveness, Reassurance & Comfort, Sexually Inexperienced Reader, Sub discrimination, Subspace, Teasing, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Vaginal Fingering, that John 0/10 follows nor tolerates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 05:48:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22628872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkdolphin/pseuds/sharkdolphin
Summary: I’m fairly vanilla, to be honest. My certifications are attached for your perusal—as are a few reference contacts. Would be happy to discuss any of this in greater detail, face to face. See you soon.You aimlessly read the simple paragraph over and over again. It took up a tenth, perhaps even less, of the available space on the page. It was what first sent you into a panic when you had finally received a notice that a dom out there had requested to claim you.akaA healthy, feel-good incarnation of the ‘shy timid female sub meets suave charming male dom’ trope.
Relationships: John Deacon/You
Series: Floofy Silver Fox [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1700956
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	I Was Looking For Some Good Old Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

> This is based in a vaguely defined universe where dominance and submissiveness are strict societal roles, and one-sided matchmaking, with doms having freedom of choice over their subs, is the norm.
> 
> I’m imagining John as how he looked in the MV for Headlong and the 1990 Brit Awards. 
> 
> Title is from the lyrics of Pain Is So Close To Pleasure by Queen.

You waited anxiously in the luxurious suite for your dom to arrive.

First impressions were important, and you sincerely hoped you were capable of forming a good one, almost as much as you hoped your dom would leave a good impression on you.

Then again, you were probably in more trouble than you wanted to admit, and were just being unreasonably optimistic as a coping mechanism.

Air condition could be felt on pretty much your entire body, which would typically have felt great, the perfect ‘indoors weather’ to curl up on the spacious bed under the blankets, but you were too worried to even consider relaxing now.

Two soft knocks on the door indicated your dom was finally here, and you scrambled off the bed, onto your feet just in time to see a tall, smartly dressed man entering the room, closing the door behind him before turning to look at you.

“Hello,” the man greeted, smiling broadly.

Your breath hitched a little as you took in how kind and approachable and dizzyingly attractive he looked, laughter lines forming beautifully around his smile as he regarded you warmly, more like a newly-met acquaintance rather than a dolled up submissive, his hand outstretched for a handshake.

His grip was steady while yours trembled, and his gaze was unwavering, but also incredibly fond.

It genuinely helped a lot that he was looking you in the eyes and not any lower than your neck, but you still felt very self-conscious of what you were wearing.

“You seem rather nervous,” the man observed, his gaze softening, turning apologetic. “I really hope this situation, or myself, aren’t scaring you.”

“No, no, it’s fine.” You were quick to dispel that thought. The man—John, you had learnt from his identify form—sounded extremely reliable and trustworthy from what you’d read, and his behaviour thus far had proven it.

He was still standing a respectable arm’s length from you, hands clasped in front of him, squinting a little in concern and definitely not leering at you like you had feared. There was no need to cause any unnecessary distrust or offence by acting fearful.

“Are you uncomfortable with how you’re dressed?” John asked simply, breaking the awkward silence. You were taken aback by how observant he was, but then figured that, since you were practically squirming where you stood, it was a reasonable conclusion to come to.

“Um. I’m just—I mean, Sir—I’m a bit…Yes, I am,” you finally confessed, instantly regretting how much it sounded like a complaint.

You’d had the freedom of at least choosing from a selection of matching underwear sets, and had chosen a black lycra pair that was completely opaque, had bra padding, and covered the most skin out of all the options.

Despite that, the way you ended up looking—in a two-piece, stripper heels, lipstick and mascara—was still _nothing at all_ like how you saw yourself, whether in a submissive mindset or not.

But there wasn’t much else a sub was expected to look like when their dom was to first meet and inspect them, you thought sadly, now starting to worry how your new dom would react to your comment, did it count as insubordination, oh shit—

“I’m still ‘John’, now,” he corrected gently, and from where you cowered, you saw him take a step back and gesture to the other corner of the room. “We have all the time today, really. You could change your outfit.”

Gathering your courage, you looked up to see him smiling encouragingly, and saw he was gesturing to your closed luggage case that sat below the dresser table. “You must’ve brought quite a few of your own clothes along, yes? Do you have anything in mind you’d rather wear for our time together?”

You did, but the idea of suggesting them to a seasoned dom who had seen countless subs was humiliating. Still, you felt compelled to answer him honestly. “Yes, I do, John. But, what if…they’re…”

You trailed off uncertainly, watching John, who had walked to the table to fetch your luggage. His dark dress suit fitted his slim figure extremely well, and heat curled tightly in your gut as you watched the fabric of his dress pants shift against the curve of his ass.

You flushed with arousal, but also with shame, realising your dom had been displaying far more respect towards you so far, than you towards him.

“What if they’re what, love?” He questioned, grinning in amusement. “Come on, I’m dying to know what your ideal outfit for a scene would be.”

His friendliness made you lower your inhibitions enough to hesitantly reply, “Pyjamas,” trying not to think too much about how absolutely childish it sounded.

John’s delighted laughter was as gorgeous as his voice, and amazingly, you found yourself relaxing slightly and even smiling shyly to yourself.

“Go on, then,” he encouraged, lifting your luggage case onto the bed and gesturing for you to open it. “Find the best set of pyjamas that you packed in there. Change into it. I’ll go get us something to drink, alright?”

* * *

“Nice banana print, it’s very stylish, really.”

The compliment made you feel warm all over, and you shuffled bashfully under the appreciative look John was giving you now.

Barefoot, with cosmetics washed off, you were wearing a set of thick-woven, long-sleeved cotton shirt and loose pants, pale pink with prints of half-peeled bananas all over them.

You gingerly seated yourself at the table, facing John, as he handed you a champagne flute.

“Cheers, to dressing comfily,” he initiated, as your glass flutes chimed against each other.

You waited for John to take a sip of his champagne before doing the same. It turned out to be a sweet prosecco that bubbled pleasurably on your tongue, and you found yourself sipping at it eagerly. 

“I think your fashion sense is rather brilliant, if I’m honest,” John said, and you found it impossible not to blush, not when he was beaming so proudly at you.

“But then again, it’s probably because my taste is quite similar too, you know. A lot of my underwear have patterns of fruits or vegetables on them,” he confessed, leaning forward and whispering theatrically, making you giggle.

“Including what you’re wearing _right now_?” You ventured to ask, trying but failing to hide a smile.

“Hmm,” he replied enigmatically, brows quirked. “Guess you’ll see for yourself eventually; what kind of underwear I’m wearing, if any at all.” The way he teased you, deliberately but not cruelly, made your cheeks burn delightfully warm.

“You seem more relaxed and confident now,” John commented after a while. “I’m real happy about that.”

“Oh,” you said, not sure how to react to such an open-hearted statement. “Thank you, Sir,” you replied, smiling bashfully down at your hands.

“ _John_ ,” he corrected. “You don’t seem as nervous, but you’re still very shy,” he pointed out. He gently took your hand in his. “The champagne isn’t just a formality, you know. I actually want you to feel at ease.”

“Sorry, I’m just worried—” you began, before cutting yourself off, suddenly ashamed at how you were mindlessly venting to John, who had no obligations to listen to your problems.

“Yes?” He prompted.

“It’s nothing,” you quickly deflected.

John frowned. “It’s not nothing if you’re worrying over something, Y/n. And I know it’s got to do with this situation we’re in.” 

You remained silent, still feeling off-balance from the longing you felt to bare your soul to John, and your visceral, instinctive refusal to appear weak when you were already in a submissive standing.

It felt awful to be reminded again of why you were here, just when you were about to forget.

“Unless I’m terribly mistaken,” John continued, “you appear to be interested in giving this a shot. But, your interest isn’t enough for me. I only want to do this if I can be certain that you won’t regret _a single thing_ ,” he emphasized, the unspoken plea, to tell him what was bothering you, loud and clear.

It was a plea rather than a command, John not seeming to want you to share what you weren’t comfortable with sharing, yet wanting to make it clear how important he felt that emotional transparency was.

He waited patiently as you searched your jumble of thoughts. “I’m worried I don’t perform up to your standards,” you finally admitted.

You took a deep breath and steeled yourself.

“I frankly never looked forward to the day I’d have to give myself over to a dom. I purposefully didn’t want to prepare myself for it, for whoever successfully bid for me.

“I thought, any appearance or behaviour of mine that they didn’t like would be, well, kind of ‘what they deserve’, I guess? Immature, I know. It was just my idea of defiance. As in, it was my idea of defying the system, not necessarily the people, so.”

You didn’t miss the way John nodded in understanding, giving you a sympathetic smile. Then his smile lilted and became more hopeful—you realised he was now giving you an approving look, something you dared called _pride_ in his expression.

Relaxing considerably at his show of empathy, you found it much easier to continue talking.

“But, yeah. By the time I got my bidding results, posting, claimant details, et cetera, and realised who you were, um. I panicked a little—that was less than a month ago—and only _then_ made the decision to actually prepare myself properly.

“So I took classes, crammed on theory, and, uh—” you broke off with a nervous laugh, shrugging, “it probably did come across in my Yes-No-Maybe list how rushed I was, filling it in at the last minute.”

“You left the entire comments column blank,” John agreed, but he seemed to be holding back a smile, so he couldn’t be too disapproving, right?

“So, yeah,” you concluded, voice now quieting down. “I now realise I actually really want to please you, but I’m unprepared as fuck, and it’s kind of embarrassing,” you mumbled.

“ _Oh, Y/n_ ,” John sighed affectionately. He was stroking your hand, fingers caressing your pulse point and thumb going to graze lightly over your knuckles.

“You’re not doing that bad right now, though, are you?” He asked, and it sounded like a rhetorical question.

“We both agreed that liking what you wear is more important than following the so-called ‘universal’ dress code for subs—which isn’t the law, by the way. And, you trusted me enough to tell me the truth on how you really feel about all this partnering and claiming business.

“I know it took a lot from you to trust me upfront just like that, so thank you,” he finished, dipping his head in a nod of acknowledgement, the ease of his humility tugging sharply at your heartstrings.

“No problem, John,” you said sincerely, hoping your gratitude shone through. “I’m also glad I got to explain myself.”

Your champagne flute was empty. The prosecco was delicious, but it’s not like you had actually needed to drink to attain that highly sought after warm and fuzzy feeling, your fluttering heart already straining to catch up with a multitude of emotions—though mostly positive—as you experienced an exhilarating blur of surprise after surprise.

“Well,” John began, “I _have_ been thinking about asking you if you’d like to update your checklists, ever since reading them. Not just for clarity, but also because it’s rather common, you know, to have changed your mind since first making notes on your kinks and rating your preferences.”

He checked his watch. “My luggage is to be delivered here soon, together with all the documents I’d received from you and all that. We could then take a look at those.

“What do you think?” He asked. “Would it make you feel more prepared and confident, to have a second go at doing up those forms properly?”

“Holy shit, really? Thank you so much, John, of course it would.”

John’s face broke into a blinding grin. “Was that the only thing holding you back?”

The world was slowly realigning itself in your eyes, the idea of domination and submission having been rewritten, bit by bit, as John had talked and listened and laughed and loved.

“It was,” you agreed, finding his grin to be contagious.

* * *

You tried to discreetly observe John’s reaction to reading through the stack of forms you had edited, but couldn’t infer much from his neutral, focused look.

He was at the kinks and fetishes checklist now, going back and forth through its many pages, instinctively licking his fingertip before turning each page and only occasionally stopping at what you knew was a row you had added a comment in, or edited a rating.

“This would be the perfect time for you to add on anything you want to your checklist, edit anything you’ve changed your mind on, you know, things like that,” John had told you.

It was a playful hint, _give me a better idea of how you want to have fun_ , not an order, but either way you had been thrilled to comply.

John hadn’t made any changes to his own documents, so there was nothing new for you to read. Still, you went over the cover page of his Dom Identity Form, with its embossed stamp of authenticity and holographic watermark margins.

The next few pages were just as painstakingly objective, a contents table of his attached competency certifications and mastery awards for various BDSM techniques. Obviously, they were useful and important information, but you’d still always thought of all the charts and figures as clinical, going into meticulous physical detail but never providing photos or anecdotes.

You flipped to the last few pages, which had John’s own list of preferences.

* * *

Experienced doms who have been thoroughly vetted by the community and the authorities were no longer required to fill in a lot of the same lengthy checklists that newly minted doms had to, the reason being that their history of preferences—even prior to formally claiming a sub for life—would already be publicly available information, which the sub on the receiving end of the claim could search up whenever they wanted to.

Still, John had gone with the increasingly commonplace courtesy of writing down a simple list summarizing all the information he thought you needed to know, going in.

_Sections I to IX, as described: generally flexible and willing to perform them at request_ , he wrote, in reference to the vast majority of bondage, humiliation, disciplinary, and sadistic acts.

You glossed over his other statements of accepted verbal and nonverbal communication methods, as well as the open-ended section where he simply wrote, _service kink, sweet talk, teasing and denial, post-coital hugs,_ in bullet points, trying to piece everything together in your head and anticipate what doing a scene with him might actually feel like.

Your gut was twisting and turning in pleasurable excitement. You put the Identity Form down and picked up the other document you had received previously from John, his cover letter.

_I’m fairly vanilla, to be honest. My certifications are attached for your perusal—as are a few reference contacts. Would be happy to discuss any of this in greater detail, face to face. See you soon._

You aimlessly read the simple paragraph over and over again. It took up a tenth, perhaps even less, of the available space on the page. It was what first sent you into a panic when you had finally received a notice that a dom out there had requested to claim you.

When a dom doesn’t use at least half a page to try and convince you why they’d be the perfect person you should submit to, it usually either meant they didn’t take their claim request seriously, or were just as arrogant as those who used the entire page to list their achievements, but were also lazy.

It was common wisdom for a sub to temper their expectations and prepare for the worst, which was why the reasoning for so many seemingly mundane details to do with propositioning doms were rife with suspicion and cynicism.

You’d always tried your best not to let the predominant mood of pessimism in society get to you, instead reveling in the joys of being single, and also trying your damned best to see the good in other people. _Maybe this dom just doesn’t like to talk about himself, for some reason_ , had been your first thought after you’d read John’s alarmingly short cover letter.

The polite tone in rounded cursive could be misleading, you logically knew, because many doms out there with the same outward professionalism and impressive number of awards had still been convicted of negligent or even abusive behaviour before. Optimism worked out better some days than others, as with most long-term goals.

You’d had about a month to come to terms with the fact that you had to stop daydreaming, stop thinking in hypotheticals, and start preparing to meet the dom who essentially wanted to take ownership of you, based on the little they knew about you that you’d put out there.

The past month had flown by, and made you realise that balancing realism with hope was a more difficult thing to put into practice than the most complicated bondage positions taught in practical lessons.

* * *

The shuffling noise of paper caught your attention, and you realized John had finished reading through your forms. He placed them aside, regarding you with an approving smile.

“I’ve reread your checklists. The key things that you changed, which stood out to me, are that you’re undecided on your interest level in masochism, and you don’t want to engage in anything penetrative right away.”

He was pouring glasses of plain water for the both of you. Gratefully accepting your glass, you took a refreshing sip, before replying.

“You’re right, John,” you proclaimed, not nearly as self-conscious of those facts now as you were earlier. The way he beamed with pride made your heart soar.

“Do you have any questions regarding what I wrote?” John asked in return, and you stopped short of immediately shaking your head, considering.

“Come on, now,” he nudged, sensing you were curious about something.

“You, uh, wrote down _‘service kink’_ , here,” you began, gesturing to the document in your hand. “But isn’t that…more of a kink for submissive people?” You asked. “At least in my understanding…”

Theory lessons—which you had poor attendance on until recently—had given you the notion of ‘service’ being linked to prostrating yourself in front of a dom and vowing to do anything they said.

“Ah,” he said, nodding in understanding. “Well, I can see how that’s more commonly associated with submissiveness, in a way. Really though, it depends on how you define an act of service, sexual or otherwise, in the first place.

“I wrote that as my biggest kink because I think of service as making someone feel good, and I get a real kick out of that,” he explained. “I basically like being responsible for my sub’s pleasure—and, well, in a way—‘spoiling’ them with as much pleasure as I want.”

“Oh,” you said, the simple explanation making a lot of sense now that you thought about it that way.

John going out of his way to make you feel safe and valued had already made you feel much better than you thought you had any right to feel on a day like this. Knowing this mindset of his extended to sex was just the icing on the cake.

“That’s all you wanted to ask?” John was smiling again, fondly amused at how demure you were.

“Yeah, it was. Thank you, John.”

“Well. The paperwork’s done, now,” he said, filing them away, “and just in time. You’re starting to get impatient with me already, aren’t you?”

You blushed furiously, knowing from his teasing grin that John wanted you to be the one to ask him to formally begin a scene.

Truth be told, it was something you wanted very much, too.

Clearing your doubts and alleviating your insecurities now left you feeling lighter, freer, such that the breathtaking attraction that had been growing and growing between you felt logical and organic, and the perfect foundation for a promising power exchange relationship.

You steeled yourself as you met John’s expectant gaze. Your heart was hammering, from excitement and exhilaration.

“Permission to start on a simple bondage scene, Sir.”

* * *

You were kneeling on the bed, gaping dumbly as you watched John undress.

He’d taken off his shoes and jacket, removed his watch and cufflinks, and stood beside the bed, rolling up his sleeves, slow and deliberate, and almost definitely aware of how desperately turned on you were.

He carried himself with confidence and ease, and his hands moved with a surety and calmness that hinted at something far more powerful, and by the time he had loosened his tie and undid his top button, your cunt was already wet and pulsing and _aching_.

“What’s your colour so far?” John queried, and you thought you could make out a faint smile on his lips when your affirmation of _green, Sir_ was barely louder than a meek whimper.

“Okay.” John moved closer, reaching out to gently take hold of your clasped hands that were resting on your thighs. You held them out readily, aloft and outstretched in supplication.

“I’m going to tie your wrists together with my tie, how about that?”

“Green, Sir.” Your voice was shaking and your heart was racing.

You watched in awe as John made quick work of the tie, binding you such that your inner wrists faced each other. He guided you through checking your blood circulation, as well as how to undo the knots with a well-placed tug on a particular loop.

“Good girl,” he cooed, pleased with your cooperation. His large hands were caressing your face as he nosed at your hair, inhaling your scent and crooning indulgently. “You’re doing so well, being so obedient, you lovely thing.”

Your mind was spinning from how _good_ you felt, docile and compliant and kneeling for a dom who was going to take full care of you and shower you in sensual affection.

“You’re breathing very fast,” John said, noticing how you were heaving and gasping for air in your overwhelmed state. “Try to relax for me, love? Take measured breaths. That’s right, it’s okay now,” he hushed, stroking your cheek, running his hand soothingly over your back. 

“I’m sorry, Sir,” you squeaked.

“Oh, it’s alright,” he reassured, “just that, if ever you feel uncertain about something, you’ll tell me, yes? I don’t want you to be afraid.”

“Yes I will, Sir,” you replied, “and I’m not scared at all.”

“Good girl,” John praised, and that simple phrase probably shouldn’t send that much pleasure coursing through your veins, but alas.

“Relax now,” he said softly, carding his fingers through your hair. “Close your eyes if you want.”

You didn’t bother noticing how much time passed with John petting you. His touches never went to your erogenous zones, though, much to your dismay, and soon you were quite obviously fidgeting. 

“Please touch me, Sir,” you timidly ventured.

“But I’m already touching you.” You could _feel_ the teasing smile in his voice.

You bit back a whine, desperate and humiliated in equal measure, and John’s deep chuckle sent a shock of arousal tickling your insides and wetting your cunt.

“You poor thing,” John laughed as he realized you weren’t going to speak further. “You want me to undress you and feel you up, is that it?”

You whimpered, nodding your head in agreement even as you cowered further into a protective slouch, cheeks burning with humiliation.

“Colour, love,” John reminded, tipping your chin up. “Come on, don’t hide your face.”

“Green,” you breathed. Your heart was pounding and your whole body was trembling. You noticed John had an erection now, forming a deliciously shaped bulge in his trousers.

“And, Sir, could I…” you looked between the silk around your wrists and the belt that John was wearing, sighing with relief when he correctly inferred what you wanted to ask, helping you articulate it.

“Do you want to try having your wrists bound with my belt?”

More shy nods. John was mercifully becoming acceptive of nodding as a form of nonverbal consent.

“Okay then,” he agreed, bending down to peck you on your cheek. “Let’s see you untie your wrists by yourself now, how about that?”

It felt _amazing_ to watch the knots made by John loosen and unravel in your own hands, the confirmation that you still had everything under control filling you with an indescribable joy.

John gently coaxed you from your kneeling position into sitting at the edge of the bed, and sat himself down too, leaning in close to unbutton your pyjama shirt.

Your faces were close enough to be breathing the same air. Gazing up, you could see the arch of his eyebrows, the soft creases by his eyes, the gentle curl of his lashes, how his chiseled nose bridge tapered to the round tip of his nose.

With all buttons undone, your shirt was left entirely open. The air was cold, but your body was burning from the intimacy of the moment. You never imagined that being exposed could also leave you feeling so safe and protected.

“Penny for your thoughts?” John asked, running a soothing hand up your arm.

“I’m, um. Just very grateful, Sir,” you mumbled, becoming flustered again. “And I think you’re very handsome.”

John’s elated grin proved your point more perfectly than words ever could. “You’re too kind,” he said, leaning in to sweetly kiss your cheek.

“I’m going to _peel_ away your clothes now,” he whispered, and when your mind caught up to his joke you found yourself giggling stupidly into his shoulder.

John carefully stripped you of your pyjamas, and removed his belt, which was handled efficiently, looped through its buckle in a figure-eight to create a secure pair of cuffs.

“I must say, you’re quite an a- _peel_ -ing sight,” he mused, smiling triumphantly as you cracked up again in a fit of giggles, any earlier anxiety about not pleasing him having dissipated completely.

You were giddy with anticipation, sighing happily as you settled yourself, sprawled out in John’s lap, your boneless and relaxed posture a sign of not just consent, but enthusiasm.

Now that your laughter had subsided and you became more aware of your body, the filthy position you found yourself in—face down, ass up, and naked for John’s perusal—sent heat curling through your every limb and coiling tightly in your core.

“You said you wanted to be _touched_ , didn’t you?” John purred, right hand skimming your leg, up your calf, up your thigh, giving your ass a possessive squeeze.

“Oh my god, _yes_ ,” you choked out, overwhelmed with the reminder of his ownership of you.

His hand moved again, and finally, _finally_ , his fingers were trailing over your folds, circling your clit, getting slicked in the wetness that had gathered there.

You moaned loudly, wriggling your hips to rut against his fingers, and it felt obscene and degrading and _absolutely_ blissful, John’s rumbling chuckle only adding to your mounting pleasure.

“What a pretty little cunt you have,” he praised, middle finger right against your slit, rubbing up and down, up and down, getting faster and harder. “But it belongs to me, and I think you need my permission to come, don’t you?”

“Please,” you begged, the submissiveness of the act only winding you up more desperately.

John chuckled again, lightening his touch so it was now agonizingly teasing, his other arm wrapping around your waist to restrain you from grinding against him. “You’ll have to do better than that, girl,” he chided.

You whimpered and sobbed and writhed in his grasp, disbelieving in gratefulness at how thoroughly John was indulging in all your guiltiest fantasies.

Weeks ago—in fact, even just a few hours ago—the thought of placing yourself in such a position of vulnerability was near unthinkable.

“Please, Sir, I really want it,” you tried again.

“Want? And what exactly is it you want?”

You found it hard to articulate all the overwhelming desire in your head, your mind focused only on how torturous yet unbearably good it felt to have John running his fingers over your inner thighs, over your slick labia, giving your slit only the faintest, most featherlight of touches.

“Hmm?” John prompted again, giving your ass a playful smack. “What do you want? Tell me.” He hadn’t raised his voice at all, but the command in his tone was unmistakable, and you trembled in both fear and arousal, the first pinpricks of tears forming in your eyes.

“I want your cock,” you blurted out. It was woefully inelegant compared to the filth that tumbled so effortlessly from John’s mouth, but you couldn’t think of any other response.

“Ah? How so?”

“I don’t know,” you stammered, face burning with embarrassment, your groggy, lust-addled mind finally realizing how foolish you sounded.

How disappointed John must be! It was supposed to be hot, the pathetic way you begged for more, but it was also becoming increasingly clear how inexperienced you were, what a turn off this must be—

“Love, hey! Shhh, you’re alright now, _hey._ ” John was gently consoling you, lifting you back up from his lap and into his arms. “Tell me how you’re doing, Y/n, am I going too fast for you?”

“I’m so bad at this,” you sobbed, feeling the sharp sting of shame all the way to your bones. You hunched over, trying to make yourself as small as possible, but John was hugging you now, his embrace so loving and warm, and your traitorous body was reacting in kind, _melting_ in his arms, even though you knew you didn’t deserve it—

“Bad? You mean, at answering my questions?” John cupped your face, lifting it up so you were seeing eye to eye.

“Oh, it’s quite the contrary, baby girl,” he said, thumbing over your cheekbone, swiping away your tears. “Whatever makes you say that?”

“I mean…” You winced. “I love that you’re encouraging me to talk dirty, Sir, but I’m no good at it, and, uh…don’t I sound kinda stupid?”

“ _Oh, love_ ,” John scolded, pinching your cheek affectionately. “Don’t say that about yourself. I asked you these questions, not just because I inferred that you’ll be turned on by asking for what you want from me, but because _I myself_ get turned on whenever a sub begs me for something.

“And you’ve been answering my questions so honestly, without hesitation. It makes me feel trusted and respected,” John said. Your heart _ached_ in your chest at how kindly he smiled. “It’s always been more about how you say it, in a way, rather than what you say.”

His smile turned playful again as he leaned down, lips brushing against your earlobe. “I demanded answers, and you obeyed me by answering. You’re being such a good, well-behaved girl, you know that?”

You inhaled deeply, heartbeat quickening, his words restoring your confidence and reigniting your desperate need.

“You love being good for me, don’t you, baby girl?” John purred, voice soothing and velvety and impossibly seductive.

“Yes, Sir, _yes_ , oh god,” you whimpered. You clenched and unclenched your wrists, tugging at your restraints, loving the reminder that you were _his_.

“Just look at how hard you’ve made me,” John said, angling your bodies so you could feel the erection in his trousers.

“My hard, aching cock is all because of you,” he growled, groping your ass with both hands, pulling you closer to grind against him, your arms trapped between both your chests.

You moaned at the feeling, clit throbbing in response to the friction it felt, _so much more_ after all of his teasing, yet barely enough.

“Still think your talk is silly and doesn’t turn me on?” He asked. You shook your head emphatically, heavy breaths leaving your lips at each of his languid thrusts.

John’s lips were at your throat, leaving licks and open-mouthed kisses, while his hands roamed nonchalantly, palming your ass, fondling your tits, and leaving you more aroused than you ever thought imaginable.

“So eager, you look prepared to beg already,” he chuckled, moving away slightly to rake an appreciative gaze over you. His hand came up to stroke your hair, twirling it between his fingers.

You felt so _small_ , so insignificant and tiny and utterly at John’s mercy, begging and pleading and falling apart in his hands while he remained coolly amused and almost unimpressed, the contrast between your pitiful groveling and his calm authority such an intoxicating turn on, your head was spinning with it.

John lightly grazed the back of his fingers against your cheek, the gesture casual and condescending, making you whimper and blink back more tears. “You love it when I play with you like this, hmm, you naughty little girl?”

“Yes,” you choked out, tears blurring your vision, “ _yes_.”

John hummed, pleased. He leaned forward and kissed your neck, making warm noises of approval as you whimpered and rutted helplessly against him, wordlessly begging him to give you the pleasure you desperately craved.

“Lovely thing,” he murmured. “Show me how needy and horny you are.”

“Please, use me however you like, Sir. I want you to claim me and show that you own me.”

“You’re sure?” John asked, even as he searched your posture and expression for any sign of hesitancy.

“Take your time, answer me truthfully,” he reiterated, speaking softly. His hands had stopped toying with you, instead going to rest on your shoulders, anchoring you even as your mind was still floating on a cloud of endorphins and pleasure.

You shyly met his gaze, seeing the patience and tenderness in his expression, and felt your heart seize up, overcome with emotion.

John was so dominant, so caring and protective, that the absolute control he had over his own actions made you decide, with a single-minded clarity, that you wanted nothing more than to submit yourself completely to him.

“Green, Sir,” you whispered reverently. The belt around your wrists grounded you, and the confidence in your decision motivated you to speak up.

“Do you want to be a good sub for me, then?” A knowing smile tugged at John’s lips.

“Yes, Sir, I want to, so much,” you agreed, grinding against him for emphasis, savouring the rush of adrenaline that your filthy actions summoned. “I want to worship your cock and be marked with your cum. I want you to finger my wet pussy. I’ve been such a good girl for you, please let me come all over your fingers. _Please, Sir_.”

“Oh, you naughty girl,” he crooned. You were weightless, drowning and floating at the same time, trusting your desires with John, the hands he had on you a reminder of how safe you were.

“In that case, I first want you on your knees, watching me,” John ordered, moving to stand, effortlessly scooping you up. You melted in his arms, sighing with incoherent pleasure in his strong embrace, barely noticing there had been a pillow placed on the floor earlier until you were settled onto it. 

“I’m not expecting you to suck me off now,” he assured, ever mindful of your preferences, giving your shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing back up to tower over you.

You sighed happily when John brought your head forward so that your cheek was pressed right against his clothed erection, shivering at how warm and hard his cock felt even through the smooth flannel.

John titled your head again, so that your nose was pressed into his bulge, and you moaned in satisfaction at how musky his scent was, how masculine and deeply arousing.

He let out a hum of contentment, pressing against your face in shallow trusts, scratching lightly at your scalp, overwhelming your senses and adding to the sweet agony building in your groin and your core.

“Already drooling for more, aren’t you?” John asked. He tugged lightly at your hair to pull your face away, before hand returned to squeeze himself.

“Please, I want to see you, Sir,” you implored.

“You’re so excited, you adorable little thing,” he cooed, but seemed happy to indulge in your pleas, fingers moving deftly to unzip his fly and pull his cock out.

Your breathing grew ragged as you ogled helplessly, admiring John’s knuckles and veins and the languid way he pleasured himself. His deep hums of satisfaction went straight to your throbbing cunt, but you had no way to touch yourself, with your hands bound.

“You lovely thing. You look so absolutely lovely like this, kneeling for me,” John sighed. He was lazily fondling his balls, then curling his large hand around his thick shaft, thumbing at the head and slicking his fingers with precum.

“You wanna know how my cum tastes like? Lean forward and you can have a lick,” he teased. You shivered, and obeyed, craning forward, mouth agape. Before you could get too ashamed over how pathetic you must’ve looked, John was tilting his cock in his hand so that the head of it was smearing the side of your face, rubbing against your open lips and the tip of your tongue.

The texture of the cum didn’t innately do much for you, but John’s amused chuckle and the patronizing way he patted your cheek set your nerves alight with pleasurable humiliation. “Such an obedient thing,” he marveled, gently probing his thumb past your lips and humming in approval as you sucked on it. “ _Good girl_.”

You watched in slack-jawed adoration as John continued pleasuring himself, the movements of his hand around his shaft now more urgent. “Keep this up and I’ll soon be coming, spilling all over your pretty face.”

“ _Yes_ ,” you moaned, “please, Sir.”

“Look at me.”

You did, craning your neck to look at John’s face, his brows furrowed in concentration, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his tightly pursed lips. His nose was flushed deliciously with arousal, and his eyes held a powerful gaze that made you tremble where you knelt.

“How are you doing, baby girl?” He asked, the hand that wasn’t stroking himself coming up to caress your cheek. His tone was sincere, not at all smug like you thought he had every right to be.

“I’m—” you had to swallow past another sob, the gratefulness and awe and reverence and love you felt towards John almost too much to bear. “I’m great,” you eventually replied.

John was breathing heavily now, almost panting, clearly nearing his climax. “If you don’t actually want me spilling on your face, please, let me know.

“If you decide it’s something you don’t like, move away, cover your face, just—” he broke off with a sharp inhale, trying to maintain his composure despite being so close to orgasm—“just do what you need to, I won’t be mad, I _promise_ ,” he said. 

“I know that, Sir,” you sobbed, “I know. But I still want it. I want you, so bad,” you begged. “Please mark me up, Sir, _claim_ me, I’m all yours.”

“Oh,” John exclaimed, “ _fuck_ ,” and then he was coming, his curse hoarse and drawn out. You shut your eyes on instinct, a split second before you felt the warm squirt of cum on your face.

Things seemed to move in slow motion as your overwhelmed mind took in one detail at a time—the faintly salty taste of your own tears, John’s heavy breathing, the heady scent of sweat and sex in the air, the roughened skin of John’s palms and the warmth of his embrace as he bent down to scoop you up.

“Are you still with me?” You heard John’s gentle question as you felt the soft mattress of the bed against your body, and you blinked your eyes open to reorient yourself, the light of the room less harsh than you remembered, finding yourself laid on the bed, John still hovering nearby.

Seeing your owlish blinking and hearing your soft, pitiful whines, he moved closer, kneeling over you, arms braced on both sides of your head. You felt invincible in his presence, knowing you’d be protected from every possible danger or malice.

“I’m going to finger you, if you still want that,” John said, stroking your hip and the side of your thigh. “Nod or shake your head, baby girl.”

You hung on his every syllable, you loved the sound of his voice _so much—_ but you were also struggling to connect the dots and process his actual words. Nodding meant consent, you eventually recalled, and you tried to move your head accordingly but weren’t sure if you succeeded.

You whimpered pitifully, an urgent needy feeling roiling and churning in your gut, luscious and all-consuming. You wanted John’s touch _so badly_ , you had to convince him you wanted it—

Whatever John saw in your response must have pleased him, because soon he was leaning down and kissing you, and dipping his fingers into your folds.

You moaned into the kiss, too blissed out to properly kiss back, and the way John took the lead and nipped on your lips and coaxed his tongue tenderly against yours sent wave after wave of arousal coursing through your body.

“Such a gorgeous thing,” John cooed, “you’ve been such a good girl, so obedient and sweet.” You were so wet with arousal, his fingers barely made any discomfort as he slowly eased them into your pussy, one followed by a second, moving in and out, curling upwards and sending shocks of pleasure radiating from your core.

John quickly picked up the pace, fingers moving faster, thumb going to your clit and giving it a few good, hard rubs. “You want to come for me?” He asked, murmuring against your skin, and you moaned in affirmation, thrusting your hips to meet the curling of his fingers, nearly out of your mind with how desperate you were.

 _Take me, Sir, I’m yours, I’m all yours,_ you thought, the only clear and coherent thought in your mind, and you distantly wished you could articulate this to John, but also knew that your needy whimpering and the way you melted into his kisses were another way of saying it; so long as John knew you were beyond happy to be submissive to him.

“Come for me, lovely girl,” he urged, and just like that, you found yourself letting go fully, crying out in unbearable pleasure, obscenely riding out your orgasm as John continued moving his fingers, in and out, although more shallowly, still rubbing your clit, slower and slower, until the shudders and jolts of your hips tapered off and your legs slid back down onto the bed, your entire body collapsing in a blissful slump.

With pleasure still glowing in your every muscle, it took you a while to calm down, John soothing you with steady passes of his hands over your skin.

Eventually, you were being shifted, maneuvered around carefully in a loose embrace, and through your heavily lidded gaze and foggy awareness you noticed him reaching out toward the nightstand.

You felt the warmth and feathery softness of a steamed wet cloth as John wiped your face. “How are you doing, Y/n?” He asked.

The sticky cum being cleaned off your face, together with his tender concern, made something in your chest finally snap.

“Good. I’m good,” you said, voice cracking, and then you were heaving sob after sob even as John held you close.

You cried as John carefully undid the belt cuffs and kissed your wrists, palms, fingers, and knuckles. You cried as he reached out for fresh washcloths, one to wipe between your legs, one to wipe the sweat from your skin, his movements gentle and steady.

You broke down and wept and clung to John as he slowly removed every trace that you had been tied up and ejaculated on and finger fucked, picking up the pieces you had willingly broken yourself into and polishing them and handing them back to you.

“Shhh, oh love—it’s okay, now—we’re safe, we’re alright,” he cooed. He was cradling you in his arms, fervently kissing your face and mumbling sweet nothings against your skin.

“ _John_ ,” you keened, arms wrapped tightly around him, shaking and sobbing as your tears soaked the collar of his shirt.

“Oh, Y/n, you’re so wonderful to me,” he sighed adoringly, swaying you side to side in his embrace, nuzzling you and dropping kisses to your forehead. “I can’t believe you let me touch you like that, it was amazing, it felt so good.”

“ _John_ ,” you wept, too overwhelmed to do much else but gasp and shiver at each of his kisses, now that he was cradling your head in his hands and trying to kiss your tears away.

“You’re incredible, so lovely and beautiful, you know that?” His voice was so tender, a mix of overjoyed and humbled, and you couldn’t stop yourself from crying.

You cried and cried, and it felt like you were still riding the high of your orgasm, the pleasure that you felt not just simmering in your muscles and nerves but also leaving a sweet yearning in your chest, a longing that only hugging John this close seemed to fulfil.

When you eventually quieted down and found your voice again, the first thing you whispered was, “Thank you, John.”

The way he smiled, like your simple show of gratitude was the greatest gift he’d ever received, made you feel for a moment like you were going to break down in tears again.

But then you smiled back, and before you knew it a huff of laughter escaped you, and soon both of you were giggling, tumbling back onto the bed and reaching out to hold hands and pressing your faces together and trying but failing to kiss because your grins were in the way.

“Holy shit,” you gasped, smiling so hard it almost hurt your cheeks. “That was unbelievable. In the best way.” John was still laughing, delighted and carefree.

You tried to find something to verbally explain just how unbelievably lucky you felt, but fell short, and resorted to saying _holy shit_ again and hugging John close and burying your stupidly grinning face into his chest.

“Stay the night,” you said, breaking the companionable silence after a minute, neither a command nor a plea, merely one besotted human speaking to another.

“ _Oh_ , of course, love, I’ll be right here for as long as you need me.”

John had just used the knowledge of your guiltiest desires to make you feel unbelievably good, seen you at your most vulnerable, and guided you back to comfort and dignity. Of course.

“In that case,” you said, heart fluttering, “stay as long as you want.”

“Really?” John’s eyes crinkled in delight.

“Why would I not want you to?” You challenged, both endeared and exasperated at once.

“Well…I dunno, really,” he conceded, rubbing his neck sheepishly.

You burst out laughing, your happiness uncontainable, immeasurable. “Then of course we should stay together,” you reasoned. “I want you here, and I’d love to spend an entire night, maybe more, just being spooned by you.”

“Oh. I’d love that, too,” John said, his declaration almost shy in its earnestness.

“And, before you even think of being unsure about it, yes, I’m officially accepting you as my Dom.”

“You have thirty-one days to think about it, though,” John said, “and as much as I admittedly want to hear that—”

“See? Perfect,” you interrupted, too elated to bother hearing the legal system explained by John right now. “I’d already started thinking of you as my Dom by the time you had let me redo my checklists, by the way,” you easily revealed. He wanted you, and you wanted him, and the simplicity of the matter filled your chest to the brim with happiness.

“We could go to the Registry any time and sign ourselves together, it doesn’t matter as much as you acknowledging what I’m saying right now,” you said. “I gladly submit myself to you, John, Sir.”

“Oh, Y/n,” he sighed, leaning forward to kiss your forehead reverently. “Thank you.”

Seeing John’s bashful smile, and hearing the heartfelt way he continually mumbled _thank you_ and _you’re too good_ , you decided that if ‘service kink’ really did mean a yearning to make someone feel as loved as you possibly could, then it could very well be your biggest driving desire after all.

* * *

John had eventually convinced you to leave the bed for “a few precious minutes” to use the en suites—one for each of you—to freshen up before actually calling it a night.

You had both left the en suite doors open, even as you padded about the tiled bathroom floors, raising your voices over rustling clothes and running water to discuss supper (and conclude that it wasn’t needed), and breakfast, and how the room service here was excellent and the pay was equal, and how there were butlers who did grocery runs around the clock.

“I’m thinking of sending one butler early tomorrow to buy groceries for our breakfast,” John mused. “The balcony has an incredible sea view, and I think it’d be perfect for, you know, a homemade breakfast, or brunch, whatever it is, when we get up tomorrow. What do you think?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t paid too much attention to the balcony’s view earlier this afternoon,” you admitted, “but homemade sounds amazing. You’re the best, John,” you said fondly, dusting off your same set of pyjamas that had been neatly folded earlier and still smelt nice enough to wear again, and the moment was so domestic you wished you could bundle it up and snuggle it for eternity.

* * *

Only upon seeing John in an oversized cotton tee and snug boxers did you realise he’d ‘gone commando’ when first arriving to meet you, leading up to your earlier scene.

“Nice underwear,” you giggled. “Are those peaches?”

“Er, yes,” he confirmed, gesturing to the pastel orange prints on his powder blue boxers. “Yes they are.”

“They look like butts.”

John shook his head and huffed in laughter as you both settled onto the bed. “That’s what makes it cute, I suppose.” 

“Yep,” you agreed, “the peach butts are really cute, but not as cute as yours.”

John looked like he wanted to hide under the duvets. Your heart ached so much it _hurt_. “I’m sorry—I beg your pardon?” He stammered.

“You have the cutest butt I think I’m ever gonna have the honour of seeing,” you continued flirting, grinning like a fool, closing in to engulf John in a hug and tackle him into the mattress. “But right now I’m too tired to do much, so I’m thinking of getting a good night’s sleep first, and then continue to admire your butt tomorrow.”

“Oh,” was all John replied, smiling like your compliment was more than he deserved, and even with exhaustion and sleepiness weighing you down, your insides fizzled with a warmth that straddled both infatuation and arousal, and felt far better than the sum of its parts.

“If we’re being serious,” John began after a while, “you’re sure you don’t want to at least discuss how we’ll be spending the next few days?” He asked, as the both of you loosely tangled your legs under the soft weight of the blankets.

Stifling a yawn, you stretched and craned your back, sighing in satisfaction at the unwinding of your muscles. “I’m sure,” you affirmed, “tomorrow’s plans will be tomorrow’s problems. And I’m happy to follow your lead for that.”

John laughed fondly at your sleepiness even as he snuggled closer behind you.

“Alright, love. We’re having breakfast first thing tomorrow after we wake, then. I’m going to carry you out to the balcony and serve you breakfast there,” he promised, leaning forward to peck your cheek. “And then I’m going to bring you on so many dates this week, it’ll be a miracle you don’t grow tired of seeing me,” he teased.

You blushed, still not accustomed to his casual outpourings of affection. “I don’t need you to spoil me all the time, John,” you smiled shyly. “Breakfast doesn’t have to be elaborate and fancy, okay?”

You felt John’s hearty laughter as he gave you a hug. “Oh dear,” he said, in between chuckles. “I’m afraid that you’ll in fact be appalled at how _unfancy_ what I have planned is going to be.”

“I don’t believe that,” you said. “Trust me, I’m easy to please, even out of bed, too,” you joked.

“You’re not lactose intolerant, or on a gluten-free diet, are you?”

“No,” you replied, “why?”

“Perfect,” John grinned, smacking another kiss to your cheek. “Alright, love, let’s sleep,” he said, loosening his embrace but keeping your fingers intertwined.

“Not a clue on my supposedly ‘unfancy’ breakfast?” You asked around a yawn, exhausted but still very much amused.

“Nope.”

“Alright, guess I’m in for a surprise then,” you said. “Goodnight, John.” You were smiling giddily even as you relaxed and made yourself comfortable under the blankets.

You drifted off blissfully to sleep in the luxurious suite with your Dom beside you.

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, this is the first smut fic I ever wrote! *nervous laughter* 
> 
> Soft Dom Deaky is my religion, and I’m starting this series to collect all the stories I dream up in evangelical inspiration.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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